Fatalities
by I Am Blueberry
Summary: They say the Second Wizarding World War ended with Voldemort as the victor. All of Europe is on lockdown. Everyone Hermione knows is dead. She is left with Draco Malfoy, two strangers, and another child to survive the very fatal aftermath of an almost silent world. What else is there to live for? DM/HG Dark, Warnings inside, please review!
1. Missing

**Fatalities**

"**Missing"**

**Note: **'Sup guys! I have no idea where I'm going with this story, but I really like it so far. First chapter's only eight pages, but please REVIEW and let me know what you think and what your guesses are. I really want to know, guys! Sorry for grammar mistakes. **Please read every author's note**, just scan it really quick if you don't want to, but I might mention something important about the chapter. Please REVIEW!

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**Disclaimer: **_Harry Potter _is owned and created solely by JK Rowling. The original characters are mine alone, however.

**Warnings: **Violence, character death, crude language, disturbing and graphic imagery, gore, slash.

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_**1998-2002**_

When thinking about the aftermath of the Battle of Hogwarts, or what was often called the 'Final Battle', Hermione Jean Granger couldn't really remember what she'd been hoping for. Harry never returned from the forest, though most think he died while facing Voldemort. It was valiant, brave, even, but it was also like a giant chess game, much like the one from their First Year at Hogwarts while saving the Stone, but this one seemed much, much worse. Instead of playing rook in this one, Harry became the queen and sacrificed himself to his opponent. In doing so – being the most valuable piece – he'd practically ended the war for everyone in Voldemort's favor.

The Final Battle, a misnomer, technically, Hermione had originally thought, had not been as the name hinted at. There had been many more after, the majority of which grew to become failures to the Order, and at that point, it wasn't a war to the Death Eaters. It became 'let's-see-who-can-kill-the-most-blood-traitors-and-mudbloods'. A way to waste time. But the Final Battle was the one where Harry was . . . ended.

Even after all of these years, Hermione could not bring herself to say Harry James Potter, her lifelong friend, was dead. She liked to think there was a possibility, that he was still alive. After all, they'd never recovered his body. Sometimes she could hear him, practically _feel_ him sitting next to her. But he was gone, not even returning as a ghost.

After the Battle, Hermione worked with the Order and parts of what remained of the Ministry to bring down Voldemort's rising forces. Sometime in between now and then the war became a fight to save as many innocent people as they could, and slow down the spread of Death Eaters. They managed most of their goal, saving millions, but not everyone. They killed their attackers, but only when provoked. They never even made it close to the Inner Circle, either. Those most dangerous and deadly were never seen again, but those who might've were long gone by the time Hermione or anyone else ever got there.

The death toll steadily rose. Around that time, there was a mad rush to leave the country, and later the continent. The Order logically assumed it was because they didn't want to be killed by Voldemort, and that was partially true; but it wasn't until it was too late did they realize that there was another reason entirely:

Voldemort was putting Europe on a lockdown. The people were leaving while they still could. The Order became desperate and made last-minute vicious attacks against the walls that were rapidly being built and reinforced with magic and guards around the continent.

For Hermione, it ended after a battle, which they'd lost spectacularly. Death Eater tactics had been brilliant, and spontaneous. They hit where it had already hurt, and while they were distracted, they attacked a new area entirely.

It was a big circle, but the deaths grew higher and higher, and people the Order needed, people Hermione needed, were suddenly at her feet, lying on the ground.

Or some, like Neville Longbottom, were ripped to shreds by werewolves. Or some were blown to bits with extremely strong simultaneous _reductos. _Or some, like Professor Flitwick , burned into a pile of ashes. Or some, like Ginerva Weasley, were killed the most common way, by the Killing Curse. And some by the simplest of ways, like Percival Weasley, were disarmed and pushed off a very high building.

In a muggle campground, a rather big one, at that, mixed with civilians and military who were allied with the Order (Voldemort took over the Ministry, and with the muggle deaths, they were discovered by muggles and worked with them.), had just finished a huge battle, in which someone who hadn't been spotted in years appeared. Bellatrix Lestrange led a pack of werewolves and Death Eaters alike.

The opposing forces had retreated after Hermione and Remus had called in reinforcements upon seeing the sheer mass and power they'd had. Somehow, they'd won. But not soon enough, as Bellatrix left, she shot a final Killing Curse at Ronald Weasley.

Then, the battle was over.

Hermione stared down at Ron, who was eagle-sprawled and dead. There was no color to his face, no rise to his chest as he breathed. His eyes were wide open and he didn't blink. Hermione didn't cry, not as she remembered everything they'd been through together.

She lay down on the half-burnt grass right next to him, resting her head on his chest and curling up into a little ball, clutching his cloak in one hand and running another through his bright red hair, and breathed heavily as hot, angry tears burned into her eyes and fell. She made no sound, but directed her attention to the bright blue morning sky, with hardly a cloud in the air and the sun rising over the horizon. Pleasant looking red and orange leaves fluttered across them, and one brushed across Hermione's cheek, as if it were saying farewell.

And then, out of that same horizon, she watched the sky grow darker. No, that wasn't quite right. She watched as the sky seemed to grow a shadow like figure, over taking its blue hue. The sun seemed to die down, and it appeared cloudier, dreary, like a day when it looked like it was going to rain, but just remained dark and stormy looking.

She watched and turned her head away to cry into Ron, her husband, married for almost a year then, and sobbed into his shoulder.

Then, the campground was on fire, and Remus, her dearest friend, ripped her off of Ron's dead body as the air got hot and smoky. Hermione Weasley, nee Granger, shrieked violently raking her hand into the air to grab Ron, but only managing to get his dark blue coat off of him. She held it close to her body and cried as Remus carried her away, as a widow, running as fast as he could.

It wasn't until later, when he finally set her onto the ground, did she realize they'd been attacked again, from above, and it had burned the camp to ashes. Everyone else was dead, and it was only because they'd been so close to the edge did they make it out alive. For a little bit longer, Hermione and Remus traveled together, in an attempt to find an Order camp.

When they did, it was chaos and already under another attack.

That was when the Order, after all of those years, bent to Voldemort and snapped into pieces, scattered across all of Europe, and they lost the war.

She was left alone.

Hermione Weasley was all alone.

_**-Hermione Granger-**_

_**November, 2006**_

London was blown up years ago. That was OK, she sometimes thought. Rubble was great to hide in. She briefly remembered muggle movies, taking place in a post apocalyptic world. That was kind of accurate for her, except, Voldemort had an order to his rule. As much as she hated to admit it, he was smart about it, and rebuilt structures.

She traveled in muggle places, where Voldemort didn't care nearly as much about as he did the Wizarding World. Muggles were captured regularly and turned into slaves and servants and workers, as were muggleborns. All were treated like scum. There were some, who managed to hide and act as halfbloods, though they were often dirt poor.

Many stayed in hiding, retreating to the forests, to small places that attracted little attention, which was what Hermione tried to do. However, she mostly spent her time wandering the forests. She mostly walked, because any spot she thought was safe was just as likely to be overflowing with Death Eaters, ready to snatch her away and kill her, or even enslave her.

If they ever did find her, she would kill herself first.

Only words from Remus, who she'd long ago been separated from, had helped her go on after Ron's death.

"_Survive, Hermione Weasley. Work for today; be thankful for every single tomorrow you get. You don't have to live for it but you can get through the day without dying."_ He'd said, squeezing her shoulder comfortingly.

But being captured, becoming nothing more than dirt under the heel of their shoes, was not something Hermione could ever willingly live through. That was as far as she could go.

For now, things were OK.

Hermione trudged through the forest, the _crunch _of dead leaves under her black Converse were the most comforting sounds at the moment. It was cold, around zero degrees Celsius, and the winds were strong, at about twenty to thirty miles per hour, which made her hair whip across her face in the gusts. Her lips were chapped and her fingers were stuffed into the pockets of her muggle denim jacket and a pink jumper she'd knitted together herself, an old T-shirt underneath and Ron's dark blue cloak wrapped around her shoulders.

She'd applied a couple of warning charms, but they were very weak since – just in case – she was attacked.

The little beaded bag she had while hunting Horcruxes with Harry and Ron still existed, but it was well worn now, and held together with magic. Hermione was in the process of knitting herself a new bag and adding the same Undetectable Extension Charm, but didn't really have the time for it. Well, maybe she did, but there wasn't really a point in doing so anyway, since the old one worked just fine for her. And maybe she didn't give herself time to make it because the little beaded bag meant more to her than it really should, because it reminded her of Harry and Ron. So she kept it with her.

Her bag consisted more of food and clothes than books now, since it was difficult for her to actually go into populated muggle and wizarding areas that sold those. In order to be normal, you had to have some sort of idea or mark. Obviously, Death Eaters had access to everywhere just by showing their Dark Mark, but everybody else had to have IDs that classified them by blood status and level on the social chain, such as 'slave' or 'civilian', which was pretty much the equivalent to saying "you-can-kill-me-and-there's-nothing-I-can-do-about-it".

Everybody had to have one, and in order to do so there were buildings run by muggles and wizards alike. The job didn't pay much unless you were actually in charge of something, and they would put you into the giant book of names and copied IDs. When the card is held up, a wizard or witch would cast a simple revealing charm, and it would check for fake IDs and it'd also list background information. Muggles described them as holographic-looking, which, of course, purebloods didn't understand.

The making included several enchantments, which was why wizards were involved in such a mundane job. Hermione herself was actually quite skilled in creating them, and sometimes when passing through the darker parts of old muggle cities that were still partially inhabited, she created IDs in exchange for money, or perhaps just food or even an extra blanket.

She often spent her spare time setting up the cards so all that had to be done was insert the picture and information. This was all illegal, of course, so Hermione was very careful with where she showed up and who she offered her services to. Muggleborns were not allowed to have wands, and any spotted must be reported. 'Feel free to stop them in whatever way you deem necessary', or so the signs claimed.

These signs were posted everywhere; sometimes they just fluttered in the wind and Hermione would grab it out of the air and crumple it angrily into a ball. But there was really no use. The papers just . . . appeared. They were dumped into the air by officials on brooms; they were passed around by Voldemort supporters on the street.

She hated it. But there was really nothing she could do about it except rip them up.

Hermione glanced at her watch, another thing barely hanging on. The metal was badly scratched and the ticking made a funny sound, the leather strap torn and fraying. But watches were actually pretty expensive and hard to find on the streets, so she also didn't consider buying another one unless she somehow came across the money to pay for it. Not that she would waste it all on a petty little watch.

It wasn't that Hermione was poor. In fact, she had enough money to live comfortably, but it was in her Gringotts vault. Ron hadn't been exactly rich either, but when they married and opened a joint account, Harry had taken his own money and dumped some of it with them, partially as a wedding gift and partially because money was a resource they needed in a war.

Hermione often wondered if the money still existed, if Gringotts remained as untouchable as ever, barring their incident with the Cup and the dragon. It still made her smile just thinking about it.

The time was 4:39, and it was already very cloudy, making it darker. But she'd been doing a lot of walking and wanted to stop for the day. Hermione decided that the thick forest she was in was decent enough. The trees varied in height, making it hard for someone to come in on broom, and she still used the same enchantments from when she Harry, and Ron, had been camping on the hunt for Horcruxes.

So she set everything up, the task so routine for her, so normal, that she didn't even think twice about it, putting the tent up and saying the spells. She tossed her purse inside and started a little fire, brushing over the ground to move leaves and twigs and sit down on the ground.

"_Incendio_." She murmured. Instantly the branches and dried up leaves lit up and they crackled into the night air, not that anybody could see it through the charms. Hermione opened up her bag, pulling out the half-eaten can of cold soup that she heated up with a warming charm and scooped into her mouth with a plastic spoon. It wasn't really good, but she savored every bite of it, and took out a canteen of water that didn't have much left inside of it.

Sighing, she decided to take one sip now and one sip when she was done, and finish the rest off tomorrow morning. Hermione scraped her spoon on the inside of the can, eating as much as possible. She was fairly sure there was a stream of sorts nearby, and then she'd wash her face and her utensils there. Hermione practically ached for a nice bath, but that wasn't really an option right now. Maybe next time she sold an ID card, she'd make them pay with a bathtub and a hot spray of water.

Yes, she'd do that. Desperate people would do desperate things like letting complete strangers take a bath in their house. Well, Hermione wasn't really a stranger. Practically all of Europe knew her name from the wanted posters describing her name, appearance, and it even included a picture of her, an old one, that depicted her running away in the middle of the city, occasionally looking over her shoulder and throwing out a hex or two.

Hermione liked to crumple those up, too.

Speaking of wanted posters, she spotted another one just drifting in the wind, and she grabbed it as it came by, flipping it over and frowning at it. Hermione had been expecting her own name and face on it, as there weren't many wanted people left alive, or at least, none that were as important as her. As the last remainder of the Golden Trio and the smartest, she was the biggest threat to Voldemort.

Not that she was actually doing anything anymore, unless you wanted to count making illegal fake IDs, but that was hardly a good reason to put fifty million galleons on her head.

As the fire died out, Hermione slipped inside the tent and lit up a candle, this time with a match. Magic was limited to people nowadays.

It started with the shadow that seemed to cover the sky. It prevented people from leave the continent by air, but it also put an invisible pressure people's magical cores, including her own. The only way to relieve it was to either get the Dark Mark, or get the silver bracelet shaped like a snake entwining itself around her wrist, emeralds for eyes. It latched onto your skin and the jaw would open up and bite into your wrists, effectively relieving the pressure.

Hermione had attempted to mimic it, and was getting closer and closer. It was one of the things she did to pass time, other than making IDs and running from Death Eaters. The band was made of silver, but she had no emeralds. The only other possibility she could think of was to use the diamond from her wedding ring, or perhaps the gold, but she wasn't going to use that unless she was desperate.

For now, she was cutting two little holes into her wrist in the morning, which was only half as good as the actual thing. Using too much magic, however, was painful after awhile, and exhausting. Hermione had to limit her magic so she didn't end up accidently killing herself or passing out. The latter had happened once in the middle of a battle:

_She gasped as she felt a pain spike from every part of her body, but continued to throw out spells while trying to figure out the source of her pain, which grew worse with every spell she cast. And then she lost her footing and fell down the hill. The spells kept buzzing by and it was a miracle she wasn't hit by anything. Instead, she rolled down the hill, twigs lodging themselves into skin, dirt smudging and flying up as she flailed. There was a horrifying moment where her back connected solidly into a very big oak, and she couldn't move. _

_The Death Eaters laughed from above the very steep hill she'd fallen, and one raised his hand, and she shot out one last desperate _"Incendio!"

_It lit up the dry thrush nearby and then the trees, and Hermione had started a wildfire. She hoped she was far enough away so that the fire wouldn't climb down, but the Gryffindor knew it was only a matter of time. _

_Her eyes closed as someone came running, the edge of a dark green cloak filling her vision and sweeping across her face in a way similar to that of the leaf from Ron's death._

It was with those thoughts did she finally fall asleep.

That next morning, Hermione packed up her belongings and tent, stuffed it away into her bag and made her way down to the stream. It was too small to even consider bathing in, but it was moving water and Hermione dipped her face inside. It might've been below freezing temperature and it was partially frozen but the water woke her up.

There was a crunch behind her, and Hermione reacted on instinct, pulling her face out of the stream and silently ducking behind a particularly thick tree and tall bushes, wiping her face on Ron's cloak that she wrapped around herself and clasped.

Hermione almost hexed the incoming figure on the spot. She could have recognized him from a mile away.

_Draco Malfoy _ strode almost silently just past the spot she been crouching in earlier.

"_Stupefy!" _she shouted.

He jumped backwards and his wand seemed to come out of nowhere, and he put up a shield charm that she attacked and beat back. In retrospect, Hermione should've apparated away on the spot, because the Malfoys were rich and he had the Dark Mark, and even if he didn't he could have afforded the bracelet. He had full power and she hadn't even pierced her wrist yet.

Then, as she got more and more tired and her spells got weaker, she let out a flimsy disarming charm and he _allowed_ it to pass through his shield and knock away his wand.

She stared, shocked as he kept his face cold and expressionless, looking down at her. His grey eyes scanned her appearance, and he held his hands up in surrender.

"I'm not here to fight you, Granger," he spat. He reached into his pocket, and she almost cursed him again, but he paused, and pulled out a piece of parchment. Malfoy held up her wanted poster, which she flinched at. And then he unfolded another piece of parchment with MISSING: HAVE YOU SEEN THIS MAN? He had a picture of him looking just as cold as ever with steely grey eyes and his name below it.

"I left the Dark Lord." He said casually, as if he were saying it was about to snow.

"Why?" she spat, her wand trembled with the effort of holding it up for so long.

"Because I think the Dark Lord was hiding something. Something big that Mother and Father aren't telling me. And I need to find out why."

Hermione lowered her arm.

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_Missing _end.

_Chapter Two _to follow.

**Please drop a REVEW!**


	2. Incognito

**Fatalities**

"**Incognito"**

**Note: **I'm really sorry about the super long wait, but I worked hard on this. Sorry for the mistakes; I was kind of just rushing to get this out. It's basically just a filler, but there's some suspense-y scenes at the end. Starts a little after where we left off last chapter. Please leave suggestions and comments in a REVIEW!

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**Disclaimer: **_Harry Potter _is owned and created solely by JK Rowling. The original characters are mine alone, however.

**Warnings: **Violence, character death, crude language, disturbing and graphic imagery, gore, slash.

**.**

"It's been this way ever since the Final Battle."

Malfoy and Hermione sat on broken logs around a roaring campfire. He ran his hands through messy platinum blond hair. There was no gel sleeking it back. It wasn't neatly combed. In fact, it needed a bit of a trim. He sighed, steely eyes exhausted as they glanced back up towards Hermione, whose own brown eyes were narrowed with suspicion. At the same time, they held curiosity.

"I ignored it. After Potter's death, I thought there'd be celebrations, huge parties and the like." He sighed again.

"But there were, right?" Hermione's eyes narrowed again, but now it was more out of confusion.

"That's what the Order figured. Only the crazier followers – the rogues, really – threw parties. They drank away and attacked muggles for fun. The Dark Lord was letting it slide, allowed the outside world to assume that everybody was doing this. After all, that was logical. I attended a few. I think everybody did at some point, for appearances' sake. But security became stricter. No one got in or out without the Dark Lord knowing."

"But why?" Hermione asked impatiently.

"I asked myself that many times, and I'm still . . . not sure," he swallowed thickly. "That's why I had to leave. Or, at least, that's what led to it. Yaxley knew. He discovered I was trying to find out what was hidden away in the Dark Lord's chambers – which was supposedly why security had been increased. There was something in there that the Dark Lord used to plan his attacks. I was desperate to find out.

"As time went on, the Dark Lord told my parents. They were sworn to secrecy. An Unbreakable Vow. They couldn't tell me or anyone else. It was maddening. It seemed as if everyone knew what was beyond his chambers except for me and I was the only one who didn't know. They whispered the secrets to each other, and stopped as soon as they saw me. I felt like an outsider. That was where Yaxley came in. Under his Imperius Curse, I blasted at the doors. Obviously I got caught, but I told no one why. Yaxley threatened my mother. After being accused of treason, I ran away. Later, a house elf dared to tell me that he was slipping potions in my tea. Cave."

"The Paranoia Poison." Hermione's eyes went wide. Like a textbook, she went on, "Pronounced _Cah-way_, it translates to 'Beware', or 'Be careful' in Latin. The Paranoia Poison in itself is not deadly, but the effects are. It causes extreme desperation. The more of it you take over a long period of time, the more increasingly paranoid you get, which can lead to actions that may cause harm to yourself and others."

Malfoy nodded. "I thought everyone knew except for me, when in reality, there were so few people who knew about what he was hiding almost nobody else did. It was a well-kept secret."

"That's . . . horrible." Hermione said. "You were poisoned, controlled, and then framed by Yaxley."

"And now here I am." He smirked dryly.

"And here you are."

They settled into a quiet, comfortable silence as the fire crackled in between them. Hermione thought about his story, imagining it play out in her mind.

"How did you find me?" she asked.

"Don't think so highly of yourself. I wasn't intentionally seeking you out, Granger," he sneered. "It was purely accidental."

Hermione said nothing. "I've been wandering around ever since the Order's Headquarters burned down. And since . . . Ronald died." She twisted her wedding ring around her finger, smiling sadly down at the diamond.

He noticed, gaze falling to the glittering stone. "You were married?" he asked curiously.

"Yes." She nodded, her voice hitched.

"I . . . I apologize."

Hermione glanced up sharply. Malfoy looked uncomfortable, and he shifted his weight on the log as he stared at the ground. It was then Hermione saw it. It came in an instant and lasted for less than a moment, but it was all there. The shame and guilt for his past actions.

Hermione let go of the ring. "No . . . don't. Don't ever be sorry for something that wasn't your fault."

Malfoy was startled. And for the first time in a long time, they had something of a tiny smile on both of their faces.

**.**

_-__**Draco Malfoy-**_

As the days went on, they learned to live together. It turned out Draco had been sleeping on the ground, and he only had his cloak and a little bit of money with him. Granger hadn't been aware of that, so they parted ways at bedtime.

The next morning, she woke early to wash up and accidently kicked him awake.

"What the hell?" he spat, scrambling to his feet, unraveling his cloak from his body and rubbing his hurt side.

"I thought you had a tent!" Granger shouted, aghast. "If you'd told me earlier, I would've let you sleep in mine! I have several bunks in there, you know. And a stove to keep you warm. And blankets," she added as he tried to straighten the wrinkles out of his cloak.

He snarled at her. "Whatever!"

"Ugh," Granger threw her hands up in the air, "Go inside and grab some food. I need to pee." With that, she marched off to the nearby stream.

Draco gaped for several moments, and then, shaking his head but smiling, he went into the tent and examined his surroundings. Granger's tent was semi-neat. There were two bunk beds parallel to each other, all with blankets, sheets, and a single pillow. She was right about the stove, too. Glowing embers emitted warmth throughout the room. There were a couple of trunks set at the foot of both bunk beds.

One bed was messy, a Granger-shaped indent on it. Draco sat down on the bed opposite of it, bouncing slightly to test it. The creaked and groaned as if no one had sat on it for years. With a start, he realized that was actually very likely. He could be sitting where Potter or Weasley once laid. Before he got a chance to stand, the tent flap flipped back and Granger entered.

"I'm sorry – " Draco immediately stood.

"Don't worry," Hermione assured him quickly. "That used to be my bunk – before, um," her breath caught, "Before he died. I sleep in his now. It used to remind me of him."

Draco didn't know what to say to that. He nodded and sat back down. "You have a . . . nice tent." His voice was strained, and the compliment felt very awkward.

Granger turned around from her place by the cupboards to look at him incredulously. "Thank you?" it came out like a question.

"I mean, uh," he cleared his throat, "I was expecting a lot worse. And for it to be a lot smaller."

"Well, expansion charms and all, of course," Granger turned around again. Glasses clinked as she shoved them out of the way. "Technically, it's not even my tent. It wasn't any of ours', actually,"

"Oh?" this caught his interest.

She set two glasses on a sturdy, scratched up wooden table, and pulled out a very large canteen of water. "We first borrowed this tent from Perkins, Mr. Weasley's colleague, back when we went to the Quidditch World Cup before our Fourth Year. When Harry, Ron, and I left to go hunt for the Dark Lord's Horcruxes – "

"His what?" _What the hell is a Horcrux? _

"I'll get to that," Granger waved him off and he scowled. "Mr. Weasley said Perkins no longer had any need for it, so it was given to us. We – _I've_ – had it ever since."

"Interesting," he drawled as she set down some corncakes. He bit into one. They were a little stale, but he downed it with some water and they tasted fine. "So, what exactly is a Horcrux?"

Granger sighed, pulling up a chair and sipping the water. "Tom had – "

"Tom?" he interrupted.

"You-Know-Who's real name," she responded. "It's Tom Marvolo Riddle. Before Dumbledore became headmaster, there were Dark books in the library. Tom had discovered them, and how to make a Horcrux. In order to make one, you had to put a fragment of your soul into another object. It anchors your soul to the earth, so that if you were to be destroyed you could still come back."

"It made him immortal." Draco's eyes went wide in realization.

She nodded gravely. "It's what we were trying to stop. The more he made, the more immortal he became."

"How many did he make?" Draco asked, frowning.

"Seven." Granger said, fists clenching around the cup.

"And how many did you destroy?"

"Six," she seemed to be fighting tears. He shifted uncomfortably as she continued, sniffling, "He had seven, and we were so close to destroying the last one!" she downed the rest of the water and slammed it back down on the table.

Draco jumped at her outburst. He patted her hands around the cup, not really sure what else to do. "You tried." He offered.

"I know." Granger said quietly. "Tom Riddle had a diary. In our second year, when Ginny was taken to the Chamber of Secrets, he'd possessed her through the diary. It – he – would respond to her when she wrote on the pages," She shuddered, "Tom was slowly sucking the life out of her. By the time Harry found her, it was almost too late. But the monster inside the chamber was a basilisk. He fought it, killed it, and used one of its fangs to stab the diary. It wasn't until Harry's sixth year did we ever find something like that again: a ring."

Granger went on to explain why they had dropped out of Hogwarts for their seventh year, the hunt for the Horcruxes that ultimately lead to Harry's sacrifice. Draco listened raptly. He'd always wondered the history behind the diadem, and how exactly the Dark Lord always came back from death.

She continued with the story even as they finished, recounting every single little detail from that point on. They packed up their items and braved the cold weather outside, where the sky looked heavy with snow.

"Let's find a city. We could get you the band." Draco suggested.

"What?" Hermione looked appalled at the thought. "Are you daft? We could be caught!"

"As far as I know, news of my escape has not travelled this far quite yet," he replied easily. "We are in _France_, Granger. I left my parents behind in Scotland less than a week ago. It's not like we'd be traveling to a major city, anyways."

"How did you manage to travel from Scotland to here in such a short amount of time?" she asked, a tad bit suspicious.

"I apparated. A lot." He said, remembering cold nights alone on a forest floor. "They'll all know who I am. You could be my cousin or something." Draco knew that could work. Malfoys were respected. They were adored and everybody obeyed them – but only because they feared the Dark Lord.

"I'll need a disguise, then." She tapped her chin in thought. Draco smirked.

"I can take care of that."

**.**

About five minutes later, Draco had shortened Granger's hair so it was a bit above her shoulders, and made it black instead of brown.

"You are no longer Hermione Granger," he said, "You are Helena Vane, my aunt Bellatrix's distant cousin."

Granger felt her black hair and shivered. "I never want to be related to her." She searched her bag to get a change of clothing, into perhaps nicer clothes that she almost never wears anymore. "What should I change into?"

"Something clean, for one," he wrinkled his nose. "And maybe, like a dress of some sort. Do you have heels?"

"Heels? Really?" she scowled.

"Yes, heels. Don't girls usually like that sort of thing?" Draco frowned. But then again, the last time he'd ever seen Granger in a dress and heels was back in their Fourth Year at the Yule Ball. Obviously, it's been a long time since then, and perhaps at the Slug Club, but even that he could barely recall.

"Not me," she huffed, yanking out a black dress. "This is the dress I wore back when I took Polyjuice to look like Bellatrix. Now turn around so I can change. It's bad enough that I need to do it out in the cold."

He rolled his eyes and turned around, hands up in surrender. "Hurry up, Granger!" he spat.

She cursed under her breath as she struggled with the outfit before allowing him to turn around.

The dress did look a bit like something Bellatrix would wear. Granger laced up high heeled boots and stalked towards him, shifting a little on the high heels. The front cut was too low, but she made it work.

"Shit!" Granger gasped as her shoe got caught under a tree root and she toppled forward.

Draco caught her in his arms easily. Her face was shoved into his chest, and he had one arm under her armpit and another on her waist. He didn't have to see her face to know that she was blushing furiously; the small fist squeezed his shirt, the other on his pectoral. He snickered.

She scrambled off of him hastily, face bright red. "I-I'm sorry!" Granger squeaked. Draco only laughed a little harder and shook his head.

"It'd fine. God, how are we going to pass you off as a pureblood?"

She glowered at him and stalked off angrily.

**.**

_**-Hermione Granger-**_

Hermione was quick to adjust one of her fake IDs to fit her new character. They were all set to go, but their only issue was which town to go to. Malfoy, of course, had a map in which he'd marked Death Eater activity.

There was only one town in France that was safe to Apparate to without a high risk of splinching, but they didn't sell the bands there because it was so poor and remote. So they had to go to one that was a bit more populated. However, it was not filled with Death Eaters, like Paris. Malfoy explained the situation there.

"Death Eaters are everywhere there – at the doors, walking in the streets. Some even live there. The people are trapped, too. If you had lived there when they first invaded, you were caught. It's almost impossible to escape there now. This happened to many major cities like London, etc."

The one they were planning on going to had much less than that, but they were there nonetheless. However, it's not like every single Death Eater knew each other, and they were in France.

"Are you ready, Helena?" Malfoy murmured, holding out his arm. Hermione glanced at his arm. Of course they'd be Side-Along Apparating; Hermione would splinch herself terribly if she tried alone. But she still had her doubts about Malfoy.

How should she know that Malfoy was really a "runaway"? What if he'd simply been on a walk of some sort? How did he find her in the first place? What if he was turning her in? If his story was true, could handing her over redeem him?

"I don't have all day, Granger." He snapped.

Her hand shook as she reached out to take his arm. The moment pale fingers locked themselves over his arm, they Apparated away. Hermione, after all these years, was unused to the sensation and felt dizzy. They were suddenly in a cobblestoned square, bustling people murmuring to their comrades. A couple looked at them strangely, but most said nothing.

She glanced at Malfoy, who had neatly smoothed his emerald cloak and put the hood up. He held his head high, as if everybody was below him. His expression said he practically hated the fact that he was even here.

"Come on." He said, linking their arms. Frowning, Hermione attempted to mimic his careless expression, but found herself unable to do so. Instead, she settled for neutral. He took the first step and led the way. Hermione tripped on a loose cobblestone, and he yanked her arm back up. "Don't you dare do that again!" he hissed. "You'll attract too much attention."

They strode through some crowds, but for the most part, it was an empty town. Houses were near crumbling, and smoke lingered in the distance. Many people sat on the streets, half-heartedly trying to sell little knick-knacks and candies. They were covered in soot, their clothes ripped and they stank of urine and something else. Hermione recognized it a few moments after. Burnt flesh.

There'd been a fire here recently. It explained the soot, the crumbling structures, the . . . smell.

It brought back a flood of memories that made Hermione shudder slightly. Malfoy gave her a knowing look, tugging on her arm a little.

"Such a pretty couple," a hoarse voiced said behind them. Hermione blushed and began to turn around.

"We're not a couple!" Malfoy spat over his shoulder. Several people looked in their direction, and he snarled at them, sneering. _So much for attracting as little attention as possible_, Hermione thought bitterly.

"A pity," the same voice, female, croaked again. This time, Malfoy whirled around, brandishing his wand threateningly.

But there was nobody there. A million possibilities ran through Hermione's mind. Invisibility cloaks, a Notice-Me-Not charm. Malfoy's gaze swept around the whole area.

"Who said that?" he barked. No one replied. Only a couple of homeless people sat on the ground, leaning against half destroyed buildings, all male and two children.

"Leave it alone, D-Draco," Hermione cursed herself silently for stumbling on his name, "We need to go anyway, remember?"

"Fine!" he huffed, shoving his wand away.

They made it through the rest of the town, and finally entered what was probably the nicest building in the town, considering the fact that the doors were covered in blood, as were most of the walls.

Malfoy reached out and opened the door, smearing blood on his fingers. This was a very tiny building, with a low ceiling and flickering muggle lights. A few candles hovered in the air, providing dim light. It smelled of smoke and death, like the aftermath of a heavy battle.

"What happened to this town? "Hermione murmured, tracing her hand along a wall, where nails had raked across the overly cheery yellow wallpaper.

"The raids happened, of course." They both turned. An old lady with a shawl wrapped over her head and bony shoulders waddled towards them with an old wooden cane, which might've been red at some point, with only a few bits left. She wore plain grey robes and was missing several teeth. Her skin was lined and her eyes were tiny and dark brown.

"Oh." Hermione's face flushed. She hadn't known the raids were still going, but then again, there was really no reason for them to stop anymore. The Order was gone. Harry was gone. Dumbledore was gone. There was no one left except for her, who was mostly presumed dead anyway.

"It was a very recent one, too," she continued, shuffling towards a long desk. "You only barely missed it. I expected you're looking for a very _special_ bracelet?" she winked and Hermione almost shuddered.

"Yes." Malfoy drawled lazily. "Do hurry up."

"Of course, of course," she muttered, waving him off. He cocked an eyebrow but didn't push it. The lady squatted, grunting from the effort. She dragged out a square box, releasing a puff of dust and dirt. The box had blood splattered on it. "M'name is Jackie," she smiled toothily, wiping off the cover.

Hermione watched with mild interest as she shakily opened up the cover and nodded to herself. "Right then," Jackie said. "May I ask who I'm giving this pretty little thing to?"

Hermione reached into her pocket, pulling out her ID and handing it over. The lady held it up in the candlelight. "Ah . . . Helena," she purred. "Such a lovely name for a lovely girl. Harvey!" she called.

"Eh?" a man grunted from somewhere. Malfoy peered over the counter, and found a young man lying on the floor with a half empty bottle of firewhiskey. "Whatchyou want?" he slurred.

"Check this card for me, honey," Jackie let the card fall on his face. Harvey groaned and sat up, groping his front pockets but mostly his crotch for his wand. Upon finding it, he scanned the card. It came out positive.

"Heh. 'S real." He grunted with approval, leering at Hermione from the floor. She shivered and Malfoy stepped protectively in front of her. Harvey must've recognized him because he paled and tossed the card back up to the countertop.

"Sorry 'bout that, Mr. Malfoy." He apologized, twiddling his thumbs.

"Anyways," Jackie pushed the box with the card on top towards Hermione. Malfoy reluctantly moved away so Hermione could see.

"I need your wrist," she purred.

Hermione slowly raised her wrist, which Jackie snatched and gripped tightly. She gasped and tried to pull away, but before she could, the old lady had already jammed the silver band onto her wrist. She felt a small burst of pain from where it penetrated her wrist, and then a rush of power as magic she hadn't felt in years flooded her veins.

"Wow," she said, dazed. "Thank you."

"Are you alright?" Malfoy asked, concerned.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Better than fine, actually, Draco." Hermione smiled genuinely at him and turned back to Jackie, who'd let go of her wrist. "How many galleons will that be . . . ?"

The old lady was gone, as was the creepy man. Hermione nervously glanced at Malfoy, who almost turned around when a wand was pressed into his back.

"Stop right there, _Mr. Malfoy_."

**.**

_Incognito_ end.

_Chapter Three _to follow.

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